


flapjack

by auctorial



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Nesting, Pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 10:59:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17222753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auctorial/pseuds/auctorial
Summary: "Can't believe you're making me pancakes. I'm the luckiest."





	flapjack

**Author's Note:**

> guys, where is all the sid-and-jack-being-old-together fanfic? srsly.

A movie and a beer turns into another movie, another two beers, and Sid leaning against Jack's arm. Now the credits are rolling, and Sid is drunk and giggly. The room is relatively cool and dark. Jack feels too warm all over. 

Sid curls further into Jack, contorting himself to dig his phone out of his pocket. He checks the time - 2:30 - and then he stretches, swathe of soft belly showing between his sweats and his tee, and Jack thinks, maybe - but then Sid's moving away. He boosts himself off the couch, joints cracking. "It's late, you should stay over." He gestures carelessly. "There are bedrooms down the hall, take your pick."

"How about yours?" Jack vaguely contemplates saying, as Sid disappears up the stairs. But he's not fifteen. He's wiser than that. So he hauls himself up (joints crackling just as badly, god, why are they so _old_ ) and stumbles down the hall.

*

Sid's guest bed is nicer than Jack's real bed, just like Sid's guest bedroom is better than Jack's actual bedroom, just like Sid's adjoining guest bathroom -

The point is, Jack can't compete with Sid's anything. That's why, when he finds himself waking up stupid early, despite the late night and the beginnings of a hangover, he sneaks out of the house and drives five minutes to the nearest grocery store. He knows without looking that Sid's kitchen won't have what he needs.

The sky is still hazy and grey by the time Jack returns with his provisions, and the house is still quiet when Jack unlocks the front door and slips Sid's keys back into the dish on the foyer table. In the middle of the grocery store, under the fluorescent lights, Jack's hangover had intensified and peaked. Back in the comforting haven of Sid's home, it's starting to abate.

In the kitchen, he starts the coffee first and lets it brew. He unpacks the groceries onto the marble countertops, then starts searching for bowls and pans and utensils, hidden away in cupboards and drawers. He lines everything up on the countertop as he finds it; he likes being methodical about cooking. He doesn't really need the recipe, but he pulls it up on his phone anyway, and then sets to work.

*

Jack ladles out batter for the first batch of pancakes, two perfect round ones and one wobbly uncertain one, and watches them start to cook, the edges slowly shrinking up, the batter starting to bubble. They're reaching the point of needing to be turned when he hears the sounds of slippers against tile. Sid's leaning in the doorway, shirtless, hair tousled and tufty.

"Oh my god, yes," Sid says, coming into the kitchen like a stray cat, hungry and opportunistic.

Jack drags his gaze away from Sid's abs and applies himself, dropping blueberries one by one into the wet batter, then hurriedly flipping them before they start to burn.

Sid is in his space now, examining the little pitcher of maple syrup, warming by the stove. "Where did you even - I don't even have syrup in the house, do I?"

"You do now, Captain Canada," Jack says, and Sid immediately rolls his eyes. "They ought to revoke your citizenship."

Sid's still inhaling the smell of the syrup, and he must be starved for it if he hasn't even noticed the coffee yet. Jack's about to point it out, except then Sid is right there, hips turned into Jack's like - oh. Jack understands body positioning like second nature, doesn't have to think twice before he closes the gap, leans down and kisses him.

The heat of the stove, the warmth of Sid's body, his skin bare beneath Jack's hands, nothing could have prepared him for this, really. Fantasy Sid has nothing on real life Sid. Fantasy Sid might be more familiar, and Jack's certainly spent more time with him, but he's like a black and white facsimile in comparison to real life Sid, who sighs into Jack's mouth and opens up, melting into him.

"The pancakes will burn if I don't take them off," Jack manages, pulling a fraction of an inch away.

"Can't have that," Sid says, but he just drops his mouth to Jack's neck, licking like Jack is made of maple sugar.

"There's hot coffee," Jack says, and gives Sid a little shove to get him moving. He flips the first batch of pancakes onto a plate - they're about the brownest they could be without actually being burnt. 

Sid's back with his mug of coffee as Jack drops the second batch in. He tugs at the belt loop on Jack's jeans, smiling. "Can't believe you're making me pancakes. I'm the luckiest."

Jack's made Sid pancakes once before, when Sid came home with him for Thanksgiving break. Jack though maybe Sid would tease him mercilessly, but it turned out Sid was fascinated that Jack knew how to cook at age fifteen, or something.

"You've had pancakes before," Jack said, tousling Sid's hair just to make him scowl adorably.

"Yeah, but not made by you," Sid said. Jack watched and savoured Sid's every bite, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction to the bone without really understanding why.

Jack kisses Sid again, easy and slow. He tastes like coffee, momentarily bitter before it's gone, and then it's just them. Sid tugs the back of Jack's shirt up, touches his naked back, and Jack shivers. This is what lazy mornings are for - Indulgence. Pleasure. A chance to wake up in your own skin. Jack feels anchored, certain, more like himself than he's felt in years.

It's harder to pull away the second time, but they do. When the pancakes are done, they eat them at the kitchen island, passing the syrup back and forth. Sid sits with his shoulder just so slightly brushing Jack's, emanating warmth like a furnace. 

Jack didn't understand why he watched Sid so avidly sixteen years ago, but he does now. Sid catches his gaze and smiles, as sweet and as promising as syrup.


End file.
